


>:/

by jack_inaboxx



Series: crack in the glass [14]
Category: Original Work
Genre: and more - Freeform, at least 200, i don't want to write them all down there's too many
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24562513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jack_inaboxx/pseuds/jack_inaboxx
Summary: His feelings are all tangled up, and he really, really doesn't like it.
Relationships: Alex | Alexis Daher/Mal Riviere
Series: crack in the glass [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1774129





	>:/

If you were to ask him, when he was ten years old, where he saw himself in seventeen years, this would not be what he’d say.

What he _would_ do is question why you chose that number, but then, that’s not particularly relevant, is it?

In any case, his expectations out of life was not spending his nights leaping over rooftops and running like a madman, much less being part of a group of rebels doing exactly that to protest the regime of men who want to remove free will from the world. 

But here he is, and he is not _exactly_ standard given that he is not afraid to get blood on his hands when he needs to (and not from the various underground fight clubs, though he does find himself there from time to time). He thinks that perhaps Lucas disapproves. He _knows_ Mal does. 

Sometimes Mal will not let him touch them; he is familiar with this, does it himself all the time. It is always the nights after he has killed. 

They tell him that they do not mind, not really, and he tells them that he knows, but there is still that weight in the room, on their minds. It strains them, threatens their bond. Once, he almost gives up the night job completely.

It is entirely to his surprise when Mal themself is the one to talk him out of that. 

That night is spent talking, and sometimes shouting, and talking some more. They work things out. They compromise. He keeps the night job, throws himself into it even more, maybe. He still kills. 

Mal still doesn’t like the killing, but they know, now, the reasoning behind it. They know the full picture, they understand it. This doesn’t make it okay, they tell him, and he tells them he knows. He knows. 

They move on. 

On the days that it feels hopeless, that it feels like he could never make a change, they hold him and remind him how much he is loved. 

On the days that they can’t get out of bed, that they can’t deal with normal life and all that comes with it when freedom is so close, he whispers sweet nothings against their skin and reminds them how much brighter their life is without the darkness of the night in it.

They do not quite believe that they cannot have that freedom without the darkness, but they understand. He does not quite believe he is loved, either.

On the days that both of them are a mess, jagged hearts like shipwrecks in an ocean, they cling to one another. 

It is hard to tell Mal that he is leaving. The warehouse is chosen, the trail set. He had hoped, foolishly, that he could stay in Chicago forever. 

He can’t. 

They want to come with him, of course, and he- if he still has a heart, whatever is left of it shatters when he tells them they can’t. 

On a foolish whim, a hope, he tells them that he will come back, someday. 

(He’s never been good at somedays.)

They only smile at him, tears in their eyes, and they tell him that even if he doesn’t, whatever comes after, they’ll find him. 

One last kiss, one for the road, and he is gone. 

There is a gaping wound where his heart used to be. The rest of him is content, happy even, because he has his _siblings_ back, but that part of him weeps, because he knows that he will probably never see his love again. 

They send him a text five minutes after he leaves that they’re packing up to move. They’ve made their choice, they say, and they’re sticking with it. 

He feels like he’s glowing. 

(They meet in the warehouse, even before the others get there, and he is so overjoyed that he spins them around. New York, he tells them, they’ll be there within the next year.)

He does not feel empty anymore; rather, he feels like he could fly. He had thought that he would have to leave everyone here behind, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t. 

When they arrive in New York, six months later, he finds them all there- _all_ of them. 

They’ve committed to this, this life he chose so long ago, and they’re with him until the end. 

It stuns him a little, because they’ve picked things up from him that he hadn’t even realized he’d been trying to teach- they’ve already got a base set up, exactly the way he would’ve done it but also with their own flair, and it’s easy to pack up and move. 

For a single, strange moment, he feels as though they’ll make it.


End file.
